


come back to me

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst and tenderness, Basically I re-listened to some Nureyev eps, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Was like 'wow Nureyev sure does zone out a lot doesn't he', and then this fic happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 16:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Juno leaned on a hand, watching him fondly. “You know, for a master thief, you’re not all that self-aware sometimes.”He’d meant it as a gentle tease, but Nureyev immediately stiffened. “It’s not…I only allow myself to be distracted like that when I know that I’m somewhere safe. With someone safe.”“And…I’m someone safe, then?”The man reddened slightly and dropped his eyes back to his book. “Well, naturally.”Juno couldn’t resist a smile, but there was also a quiet ache in his chest telling him that something wasn’t quite right about Nureyev’s explanation.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 134





	come back to me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is...old. Like half a year old. You can tell because it's written in past tense and I almost always write in present tense now lol. I wasn't super happy with it for several reasons, and also I felt like since I first started it I've now addressed a lot of similar themes better in other fic...
> 
> BUT then I reread it the other day and was like you know what??? Screw it, this fic isn't bad at all, and it only needs a few more paragraphs to finish it, so I should post it!! Especially since it's one of the last WIPs I have left hanging and it felt right to get it out before the finale ends my life and I have ideas for all sorts of new painful fic.
> 
> So...enjoy!!
> 
> CWs for canon-typical Miasma torture aftermath, brief alcohol consumption, past parental abuse + brief reference to past domestic abuse, temporary (assumed) character death, and of course depictions of zoning out that are both the dissociation variety and the hyperfocus variety

There were times, Juno noticed, when Nureyev seemed to go off into his own world.

The first time he registered it happening was in that chamber, a mile beneath the dusty surface of Mars. Nureyev had gotten distracted by the walls.

Juno was doing everything he could not to look at them. They were too loud, too bright, and something about them reminded him of things he didn’t want to think about. Nureyev, on the other hand, stared so intently at them that Juno might have thought he was trying to decipher the meaning of the universe from the symbols carved there.

“Are they really all that interesting?” Juno asked, unimpressed.

Nureyev didn’t deign to respond to the question, instead reaching out and tracing one of the drawings with a finger. “Fascinating…”

 _“What’s_ fascinating, Nureyev?”

Nureyev turned to look at him, surprised, like he’d only just remembered that Juno was there. “Did you say something, detective?”

“…Never mind.” It wasn’t like Juno actually wanted to know about the walls, anyway. He was more curious as to why Nureyev cared so much about them that he’d somehow managed to tune out Juno talking so loudly to him in such a small space.

Whatever. There were more pressing things to worry about right now, like trying to avoid being murdered by a maniacal anthropologist. Their brief exchange about the walls vanished somewhere in the back recesses of his memory.

The next time it happened was after their one of their sessions with the cards.

Juno’s nose was bleeding and his whole body was hurting, but more than that, his heart was aching with guilt and rage at the pain that Nureyev had been put through. He’d felt like something was being ripped out of him every time the man had screamed in the other room. He only felt worse when he saw the aftermath, once Miasma’s guards had shoved them back into the tomb.

Nureyev’s wrists were rubbed raw from straining at the shackles that had been placed around them, and electrical burns covered his body, turning his skin an angry red. Juno had to resist a grimace just looking at them.

When Juno dropped to his knees, it was with a pained hissed. When Nureyev sat down, he was silent.

They stayed that way for a while, Juno breathing through the pounding in his head, occasionally letting out a short whimper when he adjusted himself wrong and agitated his eye. Nureyev was still quiet and unmoving. The thief was slumped against the wall, and for a moment Juno thought he was asleep _—_ or possibly unconscious _—_ but then he saw his eyes were open.

He realized with a start what was happening.

Nureyev had spent the entirety of their card flipping session trying to reassure Juno. Reassure him that he was fine, that he could handle the pain, that Juno needn’t worry and take a moment to rest when he could, even if doing so meant condemning Nureyev to even more electrical shocks.

Juno hated to think how much pain Nureyev might be in right now, how many cries he was surely biting back for Juno’s sake. He didn’t want that. Of course it hurt to see Nureyev hurting, but he deserved to see it. He deserved to bear witness to the agony that he’d caused. At the very least, he wanted to see it so that he could offer Nureyev any sort of comfort.

“Nureyev…”

Juno staggered to his feet and stumbled over to the man, sitting down beside him. Nureyev was still silent, focused on the floor. His hands were folded on his lap. They were trembling, but Juno knew enough to tell it was the involuntary sort of tremble, caused by physical harm rather than emotional—the kind of tremors that accompany an old wound…or being repeatedly electrocuted at a high voltage.

Juno cautiously, gently, put his hands on Nureyev’s shoulders. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Nureyev didn’t. His eyes were still fixed on the hard ground.

“You don’t have to do this,” Juno insisted. “You…you don’t have to pretend to be okay. I know you’re in pain. We’re both hurting. I…I can handle seeing you hurt. You don’t have to do this on my account.”

He shook Nureyev lightly, and finally the man’s dark eyes moved to meet his.

Nureyev’s face changed in a moment from one of blank indifference to a grimace of barely contained agony. His breath hitched in his throat and he sagged against Juno like whatever thin strings had been keeping him sitting upright had suddenly been severed. He let out a quiet, keening whine into Juno’s shoulder that nearly shattered the detective’s heart.

“There,” Juno said softly, steeling himself. It wouldn’t be right to give Nureyev permission to show his pain and then react badly to it. He needed to reassure him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Wasn’t…pretending,” Nureyev said weakly. “I was simply…somewhere else.”

Juno was confused for a moment, but then he realized it was true. He was no stranger to hiding pain, himself. How many times had he bit his lip, holding back a cry when Ma hit him so that Benten wouldn’t worry? How many times had he forced himself not to limp on an injured leg so he didn’t have to make up another excuse to Rita, have another conservation about how _it wasn’t their fault, they love me, they just—_

Juno knew what holding back pain looked like, and Nureyev hadn’t been doing it. He hadn’t been feeling any pain at all until Juno had shaken him out of whatever trance he’d gone into.

He was suddenly flooded with guilt. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, detective. It’s probably not…the best way of dealing with things, anyway. It’s better to be present.”

Juno wasn’t sure if he believed that, given the nature of their current situation. Maybe Nureyev had actually had the right idea. For a fleeting moment, he was almost jealous: he wanted to be able to fly away somewhere else, too. Somewhere he couldn’t feel the pain. For all the injuries and botched coping mechanisms he’d attained in his life, he’d never quite managed that.

Then he chased the feeling away and simply held Nureyev tight, blaming himself for the man’s every quiet whimper or shaky exhale.

It only happened for a moment, during their escape. Juno was rambling about Miasma, about the bomb, and then he asked a question and Nureyev didn’t answer.

“Nureyev?”

Juno’s heart immediately leapt to his throat, imagining a thousand different scenarios, a thousand ways that Peter Nureyev might be dead or gone. He imagined that he’d been killed by one of the guards. That he’d decided to leave without Juno after all, to vanish on him without so much as a word _—_

Panic gripped him, and when he spoke the name again, that gift he’d been given, it came out strangled. _“Nureyev?”_

“Hm? Oh, apologies, Juno.” And there Nureyev was. He’d never left, because of course he hadn’t. He was right behind Juno, holding up a sheath of papers that he’d apparently been so focused on that he hadn’t heard Juno’s question. “I’ve just found something we might find useful.”

It took a moment for Juno’s heart rate and breathing to return to a normal pace. “Just try not to give me a heart attack every time you pick up a good book, all right?” he choked out. It was a joke, but also a genuine request.

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” Nureyev promised.

He ended up breaking that promise, but it was only fair: Juno broke a promise to him, too, after all. He’d promised Nureyev that he really did want to leave Hyperion City, and then he’d left him alone in that hotel bed. He’d been the one who vanished without a word, in the end.

When Juno got back to his office and pulled a bottle of liquor from under his desk, he wondered dully how Nureyev would react when he woke up.

Would he retreat back to the same place he’d retreated to in the Martian birthing chamber? Juno hoped he wouldn’t have to. He hoped he wouldn’t be hurt enough to feel the need to do that. He hoped he wouldn’t be hurt at all, and that he’d understand things were better this way.

Juno found himself once more wishing that he could leave his body, too. Surely anything, even emptiness, would be better than what he was feeling now. He’d never been very good at leaving his problems behind him, though. Tonight was proof of that. He was much better at sitting and stewing in them.

So he drank his liquor, sat in his uncomfortable old desk chair, and stewed.

By the time Juno boarded the Carte Blanche, he’d mostly forgotten this particular quirk of Nureyev’s, overridden as it was by…everything else he was feeling about Nureyev.

It was the most difficult thing in the world, trying to focus on the heist ahead of them during Juno’s first meeting as part of the Aurinko crime family.

It was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t the man who’d plagued his subconscious and conscious thoughts for the entirety of the past year, and who looked so beautiful and poised even in the significantly dressed down state he’d taken on as Peter Ransom. Juno forced himself not to look at him, and to pay attention to Buddy’s words and not choking to death on his coffee instead.

It was easier to do once she started talking about their ultimate goal: obtaining the Curemother Prime.

Growing up in Oldtown, Juno had known too many people who’d succumbed to sickness due to jacked up pharmaceutical prices and lack of adequate treatment. The idea that those people could be saved, and that the very thing that could have saved them was being selfishly locked away, outraged and horrified him.

He couldn’t help it. He sneaked a look at Nureyev’s face while Buddy explained their strategy, curious as to whether his own rage would be mirrored there. As much as Nureyev liked to pretend otherwise, Juno knew that he had a strong heart and hated injustice like this as much as Juno did. He’d seen it on that day in New Kinshasa, and in the way that Nureyev had been so quick to turn on Miasma when he’d realized what she was planning.

Nureyev didn’t look angry, though. He didn’t look upset. In fact, he didn’t look fazed in the slightest. He was just staring at his hands and fiddling with the rings there, his expression impassive.

Juno didn’t know what to make of that.

After the meeting, he passed Nureyev on the way back to their respective quarters, where their disguises would apparently be waiting for them.

“Some prize Buddy’s after,” he said as casually as he could muster. “Think we’ll actually manage to get it?”

Nureyev frowned at him. “The heist is simple enough. I see no reason we wouldn’t be able to obtain the globe. Unless, of course, you intend to be a hindrance.”

“What? No! Why would I—Look, I didn’t mean the globe. I meant, you know, our ultimate goal. What the globe leads to. The—”

“There’s no reason to think about that right now,” Nureyev said, abruptly cutting him off. “The big picture distracts from the task at hand. What you should be thinking about is Zolotov’s gala, and nothing else. Now, if you excuse me, I have research to finish.”

He brushed past Juno without another word.

Juno stood frozen, momentarily at a loss, before an idea rose in his mind. Had Nureyev not been listening when Buddy talked about the Curemother?

Juno wasn’t sure which possibility made him more nervous: that the thief could have heard Buddy’s impassioned speech about the cure to every illness and not cared about it at all, or that for some reason he’d been so distracted that he’d tuned out the entire thing despite being sat right in front of her when she gave it.

He knew Nureyev was right about one thing, though, and that was that he needed to focus on the gala. He couldn’t afford to worry about anything else right now.

As soon as he got to his room and saw the huge golden gown and six inch heels laid out there, he let out a loud, long-suffering groan. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Juno wasn’t surprised by how distant and brusque Nureyev acted when they entered the ballroom. It stung, of course, but he’d expected it. He deserved it. If anything, he deserved worse, and probably would have been better equipped for that—he was used to being yelled at and beaten up. This tense quiet and simmering bitterness was harder to deal with.

Still, they were able to carry on. So long as they could just get through this, maybe they’d finally have a chance to talk. Juno clung to that thought as he watched Nureyev slip through the crowd, disabling cameras.

It was near-mesmerizing, watching him work, like attending a ballet recital. One moment he was suave and flirtatious, the next a stumbling drunk—whatever was necessary to complete the task at hand. He slipped in and out of different personalities as quickly as costume changes between concurrent scenes in a play. Juno had seen him do it before, of course, but never this rapidly.

It was beautiful.

So much so that between watching it and trying to talk to Zolotovna, Juno almost didn’t notice the camera embedded in a fake flower right next to where Nureyev was going to steal the globe. He was certain it hadn’t been included in their map of camera locations, and he quickly realized what that meant, and just how sporadic Nova’s security system really was.

He was worried for a moment, but forced himself to stay calm. The flower was an obvious fake. Of course Nureyev was going to notice it and take it out before stealing the globe. He was a professional, and had much more experience with this kind of thing than Juno did.

Except that he was moving towards the globe now, and hadn’t spared so much as a glance towards the flower.

Juno swore.

He excused himself from Zolotovna and hurried in Nureyev’s direction, hitching up his skirts and once again cursing the way the heels hampered his movement. “Hey, _dear_ , we really need to talk!”

Nureyev didn’t so much as flinch. He was still entirely focused on the globe, as though he and it were the only things that currently existed in the world.

Juno raised his voice. “Like, right now! Hello!”

There was still no reaction. This was bad.

“Goddammit, are you even listening to me?”

Apparently not. There was no way his voice wasn’t loud enough for Nureyev to hear, and yet Nureyev wasn’t hearing it nonetheless. For a moment he thought the man must be ignoring him on purpose out of spite, but no. He knew Nureyev wouldn’t intentionally endanger the heist for a reason like that, and he hadn’t so much as glanced in Juno’s direction. He genuinely hadn’t heard.

And now his arm was outstretched, reaching for the globe, and all Juno knew was that he couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let the man he loved be caught stealing on camera, couldn’t let his identity be endangered like that.

“Honey, I said _look out!”_

He threw probably more of his weight than was necessary to down such a spindly man at Nureyev, tackling him to the floor of ballroom. They both hit the ground hard, grunting in pain.

Juno watched Nureyev take a moment to sputter and stare at him, clearly at a complete loss. “Juno…you…I…”

He left the man to his attempts to figure out what was going on as he focused on dispersing the crowd that had gathered around them. The lie about the bee was weak, and the one about just wanting a hug was even weaker, but he didn’t care. As long as people left them alone, it didn’t matter.

By the time he’d gotten most of the onlookers to lose interest he’d expected Nureyev to have realized what was going on, but if his muttered insults aimed at Juno’s intelligence were anything to go by, he still had no idea.

“Let’s get out of here,” Juno said, resisting an annoyed sigh. “Pronto.”

“And why, hm?” Nureyev asked, his tone icy. “Why should I listen to a word you—”

“Because, goddammit, there’s another security camera looking right at you!”

He watched Nureyev’s face change to a look of realization and dull horror as he finally spotted the camera seated in the vase behind Juno, and a part of him couldn’t help but feel a bit smug.

“Get up. Walk with me. We’ll talk closer to one of the cameras you knocked out.”

Nureyev pulled himself to his feet and quietly padded a few paces behind Juno, head bowed.

“Turns out, the intel Buddy gave us was outdated,” Juno explained as they walked. “She couldn’t have known, though. Zolotovna told me that security was boosted at two o’clock _this morning_. Totally insecure, of course, but that’s the thing about Zolotovna…”

He went on for some time, explaining how he’d realized who she was and why he’d decided to approach her, before he paused and looked back at the Nureyev. The man hadn’t spoken in several minutes, which was unlike him, so quick as he usually was to interject with his own opinions and arguments.

He was surprised to find Nureyev’s face slack and his eyes glassy. He wasn’t looking at Juno—or at anything, really. It was like he was somewhere a thousand miles away, and wherever that somewhere was, it wasn’t a good place.

Any other time Juno would probably have been worried by that, and he still was a little, but right now he was mostly just frustrated. “Hey?” he said, waving a hand in front of Nureyev’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Nureyev startled like a student who’d fallen asleep at his desk and just been shaken awake by the teacher. “Hm?”

He hadn’t heard anything Juno had said in the last five minutes, Juno realized dully. He took a deep breath and said it all over again, and this time Nureyev argued and questioned and interrupted as much as he usually did.

The rest of the heist went relatively well, all things considered, but even once they had grabbed the globe and escaped the gala, Juno couldn’t get that image out of his mind: the image of Nureyev completely blank, unhearing, like his soul had vacated him and left him an empty shell.

Apologizing was one of the hardest things that Juno had ever done, but also one of the most relieving.

He’d spent the entirety of the last year planning exactly what he’d say if he ever ran into Nureyev again, rewording and rewriting it in his mind every few weeks. He’d never gotten it exactly how he wanted, but he’d gotten it close enough.

It was harder when he was actually face to face with the thief, having to say it while looking into his dark eyes, and it felt like an anvil had been lifted off of his chest when he finally finished choking out the words. He’d been determined not to cry, not to make this about his pain when it was supposed to be an apology for Nureyev’s, and he’d barely succeeded.

Then he’d looked up and realized that while Nureyev had been staring at his lips as he spoke, the man’s eyes had the same glassy look to them that Juno was getting increasingly used to recognizing.

“Nureyev?”

The thief didn’t move, still stiff and frozen and staring right through him.

_“Nureyev!”_

Nureyev finally jolted out of…wherever the hell he’d been. “Sorry, yes?”

“Did you…did you even hear anything I just said?” Juno asked, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t help but feel frustration rising in him, too. How long had it taken him to plan that apology? How difficult had it been for him to actually get the words out of his throat without gagging on them, without bursting into sobs?

And Nureyev hadn’t even been _listening._

No, that wasn’t fair, he reminded himself. Nureyev didn’t have to listen to him. He didn’t ever have to listen to him or forgive him if he didn’t want to. He’d said he’d been ready to talk, but a year ago Juno had also told him that he was ready to leave Hyperion City, and they both knew how that had turned out. Nureyev still wasn’t ready to hear his apology, and that was fine.

“Look, forget it,” Juno said. “We can do this another time. When…whenever you like. I won’t push you. Take whatever time you need.”

He moved to stand, but found a long-fingered hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist.

“No,” Nureyev said. “Don’t leave.”

“Nureyev, you don’t have to—”

“It’s true that I wasn’t listening. I don’t know much of what you just said, but I…I still heard you. I don’t need to know every word. The specifics don’t matter; what matters is that you apologized. That was all I needed from you.”

“Really?” That bar seemed too low. A part of Juno wanted to refuse to accept it, to insist on giving the apology over again and ensuring that Nureyev heard every word, but he wasn’t going to do that unless the man asked him to.

“I don’t know what to say yet, but…could you just stay with me until I do?” Nureyev said after a long pause.

Juno bit his lip and nodded. “Of course. For as long as you need.”

As they slowly rebuilt their relationship and grew closer and closer, Juno started to get used to Nureyev’s lapses in attention and his tendency to disappear into his own mind.

It happened most frequently when the man was deeply focused on something. When he was busy researching a mark or scanning security footage to locate cameras, Juno often found himself having to say his name multiple times or lightly touch his shoulder before he’d return to reality. On some occasions even that wouldn’t work, and Juno amused himself by seeing how many balled up pieces of paper he could toss in Nureyev’s lap or how many incendiary comments he could make before the man finally noticed.

“Nureyev…I lied when I said I liked that eyeshadow on you yesterday. I actually think you’re more of a blue eyeshadow kind of person than a red.”

“I rearranged your skin products in the cabinet and now they’re all in the wrong places.”

“Nureyev, I think you should grow a beard.”

“Duke Rose is a ridiculous name. I mean, what kind of person is named _Duke?_ Or is he meant to be an actual duke? Either way, it’s confusing.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking, and having hair is actually really annoying. I might just shave it all off and be bald. What do you think?”

Nureyev’s head suddenly shot up and he stared at Juno, scandalized. “You _wouldn’t.”_

Juno had to stifle a laugh. “Really? That’s the one that got a response out of you?”

He looked away sheepishly. “I like your hair.”

“Wait, were you just pretending to not hear all the things I said before that?”

“What things?” Nureyev rubbed his neck. “I apologize. I was distracted by my book.” It was an encyclopedia about birds, which was obviously research for his upcoming stint as an ornithologist named Nathaniel Règle.

“I figured.” Juno leaned on a hand, watching him fondly. “You know, for a master thief, you’re not all that self-aware sometimes.”

He’d meant it as a gentle tease, but Nureyev immediately stiffened. “It’s not…I only allow myself to be distracted like that when I know that I’m somewhere safe. With someone safe.”

“And…I’m someone safe, then?”

The man reddened slightly and dropped his eyes back to his book. “Well, naturally.”

Juno couldn’t resist a smile, but there was also a quiet ache in his chest telling him that something wasn’t quite right about Nureyev’s explanation. After all, he knew full well that Nureyev didn’t only zone out when he was somewhere safe and private like Juno’s room. It had happened in the middle of Zolotovna’s ball, too, and in Miasma’s lair.

He wasn’t going to press things, though. The tension in Nureyev’s shoulders was proof enough that he wasn’t comfortable with the subject, so Juno dropped it. They could talk about it later.

The mission had gone well so far. Nureyev was on the ground, searching a series of abandoned outbuilding on a backwater planet in the West known for its sky-rending storms. They’d specifically planned the heist around the storms, though, making absolutely certain not to step foot on the planet until it was experiencing a period of calm weather.

Even the best forecasters were wrong sometimes, though.

“Finish up and get out of there,” Buddy said in his ear. “The storm’s getting worse and worse. Local meteorologists are claiming it’s on course to become the most aggressive in years.”

“Very well,” Nureyev said. “I’ll reconvene with Juno and return to the ship.”

They’d split up, him taking the building on the right and Juno the one on the left.

 _“Quickly,_ Ransom,” Buddy said. “Most local buildings are secured against the wind, but these ones haven’t been up to code in decades. I need you both back on the Carte Blanche immediately.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He hated abandoning missions like this, but sometimes it was best to cut your losses. They could return another time, after all. He ended the call and broke into a sprint towards the door, ignoring the way his bad leg protested beneath him. He just needed to grab Juno and get to the grove where they were parked, and they’d be home free.

Right as he reached the door, however, there was a crashing sound to the left so loud that it temporarily deafened him.

The second his ears stopped ringing and he uncurled himself from the defensive position he’d instinctively fallen into, he was able to start figuring out what had happened.

He recognized the sound, familiar from a childhood spent squatting in houses that were worn down enough to be blown apart by a heavy wind: it was the splintering of sim-wood. The crash of a roof collapsing in on itself. It was the sound of the very next outbuilding over giving in to the elements and falling to pieces.

The outbuilding that Juno was in.

He reached for his comms immediately. “Juno? Juno?!”

All pretense of fake names or secret codes was abandoned. He didn’t care who might be listening in on their line, all he cared about was knowing whether or not Juno Steel was still alive.

There was no answer.

“Pete, what’s happening out there?” Buddy asked, her voice cutting in and out of static.

“The…the other building,” he replied breathlessly. “It collapsed.”

“The one that…”

“Yes. The one that Juno was inside.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and then: “I highly doubt that the structural integrity of the building that you are standing in currently is able to withstand a storm of this caliber, either. I need you to leave immediately. Jet’s bringing the Ruby 7 around right outside.”

“But Juno—”

“We will look for Juno with the proper equipment once you’re safe. There’s no point in both of you…” She trailed off. “Just go, Pete. Now.”

The line went silent.

Nureyev’s arm dropped limply to his side, her unspoken words ringing through the air around him. _There’s no point in both of you dying._

Juno was dead.

Despite his surname, he was made of flesh and blood same as all of them, and even he couldn’t survive a roof falling on him.

Nureyev knew he needed to get out, to grab the handle only a few feet in front of him and open the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. What was the point, anyway, if Juno was dead? What was the point of any of it? The only person in decades who he’d allowed to truly know him, who he’d allowed himself to truly love, and he was gone. Vanished in no more than the time it took to snap your fingers.

The emotions swelling inside of him were too much to bear. The weight of the loss and the agony of realizing that he was going to have to live the rest of his life without Juno Steel were too much. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand one more second in this body that had touched and been touched by a person who he could never see again.

_His leg was limp and bleeding, burning with pain every time he put weight on it. He’d gotten himself hurt and he’d failed the task that Mag had sent him out to do. He wasn’t good enough. Now the lights from the sky were going to take him, and he couldn’t handle it, the pain or the fear or all of it at once. He closed his eyes._

_“Pete? Peter?!”_

_He opened his eyes. The sun was slightly lower in the sky and Mag was in front of him, shaking him._

_“Mag?”_

_“Christ, there you are. Where the hell did you go?”_

_“I…I don’t…I haven’t moved.”_

_“I know, but you were gone. You looked like a damn zombie, Pete.”_

_He didn’t know why or how it happened, but he’d been doing it for as long as he remembered. He had to. There was nowhere to run to on Brahma, no way to escape the gnawing ache of hunger and fear that plagued the back alleys where he’d grown up. The only place he could flee from was his own body._

_“You can’t do that again,” Mag said. “Lesson one of thieving is that you have to stay aware. What if someone had crept up and attacked you from behind? You need to keep your wits about you. No more zoning out, Peter.”_

_He tried to listen to Mag from then on and stay present, but it didn’t always work. He didn’t mean to do it. It was an involuntary response, and one that was hard to unlearn._

_He got better, though, with time. Every time he started to drift away from himself, Mag would call out to him, shake his shoulders hard, and bring him back._

_Stay aware, he reminded himself._

_You have to stay aware._

Someone was shaking his shoulders now, but he was a million miles away from them. He was observing himself from afar, seeing his grief and terror from a careful distance, far enough that it couldn’t hurt. He wanted to stay that way forever. He’d rather be nowhere at all than exist in a world that had killed Juno Steel.

His shoulders were still being shaken.

…Mag?

“Goddammit, Nureyev, come back to me! We have to get out of here!”

No, not Mag. Mag had only ever called him by his first name, not his last. Besides, that man was dead. The only other people alive who knew his last name were Juno and someone who made him very, very afraid.

The voice that was speaking now didn’t make him feel afraid. It made him feel safe.

“You’re scaring me, Nureyev. Please.”

The first thing Nureyev saw when he came back to himself was Juno’s face. It was scuffed with dirt and shining with sweat, but it was as beautiful as it had always been, his single eye bright.

He immediately reached out and cupped that face in his hands, grasping it as though he was going to have to recreate it in clay from touch alone. It certainly _felt_ real—warm and solid like Nureyev knew Juno to be.

“H-hey,” Juno stammered from beneath his fingers. “You’re back with us.”

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I’d just left the building when it collapsed, so I’m barely even scratched. Maybe the bad luck I got from all those mirrors I broke as a toddler finally ran out.” Juno laughed breathlessly, like he couldn’t entirely believe it himself. “My comms shorted out, though, so I’m sorry if anyone called and I didn’t—”

“You’re _alive,”_ Nureyev repeated. His hands finally left Juno’s face so he could wrap his arms around him instead, pulling him close. The hug was sparked less by a desire to comfort or be comforted, and more by a need to ground himself—to reassure himself that the lady was really there and really breathing. He never wanted to let him go again.

“Nureyev, babe, this is extremely sweet, but we need to get out of here,” Juno said, voice muffled by Nureyev’s chest. “This building could collapse at any moment.”

“A-All right.” He pulled away and took a deep breath. He could hear the wind buffeting against the building, smell the rain through the open window, and feel the ground beneath his feet. He was here, and so was Juno. They were both real. They were both alive. “Let’s go.”

In the end, despite everything, the heist was a success. Juno had managed to find the safe they’d been targeting before the collapse.

The others were more than a little relieved to see he was okay, too. Rita insisted she’d been sure he was alive, that it’d take more than a roof collapse to kill Juno Steel, but she still cried into his coat for ten minutes nonetheless. It was only after the trip back to the ship, a whirlwind of post-heist recaps and reports, and a rambunctious celebratory dinner that Juno and Nureyev were able to get a moment alone in the lounge.

“Do you…wanna talk about what happened today?” Juno asked, falling down beside him on the one couch cushion that wasn’t ripped. Buddy kept saying she’d replace the thing someday, but she never seemed to get around to it.

“About you scaring me half to death?” Nureyev raised an eyebrow at Juno over his water glass.

“…About _you_ scaring _me_ half to death, actually,” Juno said. “Nureyev, it must have been thirty seconds before I could get you to react to me at all. It was like you completely shut down. I’ve seen you do it before, but…never in a situation like that.”

“I apologize for worrying you. It was…not intentional.”

Juno sighed and put a hand on his arm. “Yeah. I get that. Back in Zolotovna’s ballroom, I kind of thought you were just ignoring me because you were mad at me, but I remembered it happened before then, too. With Miasma.”

Nureyev closed his eyes. It wasn’t a part of himself he’d ever particularly interrogated before. He hadn’t wanted to interrogate it. He’d wanted it to just stop happening. “Sometimes it’s a simple matter of me being too focused on the task at hand, but…”

“Other times?”

“Other times you could call it…a defense mechanism, if you like. Or a poor coping method, I suppose. I’ve done it ever since I was child, but I thought…Well, I thought I was improving. Up until recently, it’d been happening less often. I don’t know what changed.”

He did know, though. It happened most often when he was stressed or feeling lots of big emotions. He’d certainly been stressed recently, with the pressure of his debts and his creditors’ needs baring down on him. He’d been feeling plenty of big emotions, too, most of them regarding one Juno Steel.

“I…understand that I endangered both of us today.”

_“The next time you zone out like that, you might get us killed, Pete. You need to quit it. Now.”_

“I will try my hardest not to let it happen again,” he continued. “I apologize for upsetting you.”

“Nureyev, I’m not upset _at_ you, or anything. I hope you know that,” Juno said. “I was just scared because I wanted you to be okay. Is there any way I can…help? Bring you back to reality quickly without hurting you?”

Nureyev stared at him blankly. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting Juno to say, but it hadn’t been that. Mag had never bothered to ask that question. He’d just yelled at Nureyev until he’d been wrenched back to himself, scared and confused, and then ordered him to not let it happen again. “I…don’t know. I’ve never really had someone…do that before.”

“Well…we could try some things. Throw ideas at the wall and see what sticks, right?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

“Preferably in a…less stressful situation than today.”

“Indeed.” Nureyev rubbed his neck. “Thank you, love. I would much rather avoid this becoming a hindrance to the crew, so your help is very much appreciated. If it were to happen on another mission at a crucial moment…I certainly wouldn’t want us to fail on my account. It would be deeply embarrassing, to say the least.”

“Uh-huh,” Juno said slowly, with the tone of someone indulging a child who’d misspelled a word with their blocks. “But you know that’s not why I want to help, right?”

Nureyev furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t care about the heists. I mean, I do, but it’s more important to me that _you’re_ okay. Nureyev, I don’t think this is some…flaw or moral failing that you have to fix. If it’s been happening since you were a kid, it’s probably just a part of who you are, now.”

He grimaced. “What a gloomy thought.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I…can see why you wanted to curtail it when you were alone, with no one to help you, but…you’re not alone anymore, Nureyev. We can bring you back, if you need us to. We can help you.”

“Thank you, Juno,” Nureyev said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “That means more than you know.”

It had always been a balancing act: one half of him hating himself for his tendency to flee from his body and the danger it potentially put him in, and the other half of him grateful for it. There were plenty of times in his life that he may not have even survived, if not for that ability.

He wasn’t starving on the streets of a broken planet anymore, though. He wanted to be here with Juno for every moment, if he could.

“Nureyev?”

He blinked. _Dammit, not again._ “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Juno reached out to gently trace his jawline. “No, you just looked deep in thought. You okay?”

“…Yes. I think I am.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you today, too, for the record.”

“It’s all right, love. You’re here, now. And…so am I.”

Juno smiled. “Yeah. You are.”

Nureyev leaned against him, soaking in the smell of his aftershave and the feeling of his sweater against his skin. He catalogued the sound of his breathing and the way his chest rose and fell, so wonderfully and totally alive _._

He knew his mind would float away again in the future whether he wanted it to or not, but after an entire lifetime spent trying to escape, in that moment he wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else in the galaxy than on an old, ripped couch with Juno Steel.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo! I love that thief sm and I'm glad to finally have this one posted. Hope you liked, and as always kudos and comments really really mean the world to me <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr @prydon and twitter @prydonn, and I'm really looking forward to hopefully posting lots of fic to help you guys get through the upcoming hiatus...including my Penumbra Bang fic, which I recently finished and is now in the beta stage, and which (spoiler alert) is over 100k long. So. Uh. Look forward to that in April/May, I guess.


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